


For a moment, I can’t believe.

by crookedspoon



Series: [std] Five Hundreds [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deathstroke (Comics)
Genre: Community: slashthedrabble, Gen, Humor, M/M, POV Jason Todd, Rain, Shock, wordcount: 500
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-07-11 23:42:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15982976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: Jason saw something he definitely did not want to see. Naturally, he has to let Dick have part in it.





	For a moment, I can’t believe.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #501 "Umbrella" at slashthedrabble and anon who suggested Bruce/Slade or Dick/Jason. Naturally, I went with both.
> 
> I swear, I wanted to write a Resident Evil fusion for this prompt at first, with Slade having worked for the UBCS, but I could never have done it justice in 500 words, so you get crack instead. You're welcome.

Jason starts when the rain suddenly stops pelting his skull and leather jacket. He had been so engrossed, someone carrying a freaking umbrella could sneak up on him – or grossed out, might be more like it.

"You'll catch your death out here," Dick says, companionable as ever.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Jason replies, because he can't not.

"Jason." 

Dick's "we talked about this" voice is soft but unmistakable. Jason shrugs and his muscles rebel against the action. It's his first movement since Dick stepped up to him. The second is offering him the binoculars he's been peering through, frozen to the spot.

"Death is preferable to this, trust me."

Dick scoffs but curiosity wins out. Unfortunately, perhaps.

Jason does not need to turn his head to see Dick's expression shift. The sound he makes then tells him all he needs to know.

"Is that—"

"Yup."

"Are they—"

"Yup."

Dick hands the binoculars back. "I'm disturbed."

"Yup."

In a penthouse suite two blocks to the south, vases are being knocked over, tables broken, furniture destroyed. That bit is nothing out of the ordinary. The men responsible for the demolition, one dark-haired, one white with an eye-patch, have wrestled each other on numerous occasions. Some Dick and Jason had been around to witness, of others they only saw the aftermath.

At their level, the matches and their outcomes are frightening things to behold.

They've seen these men wrestle.

They've never seen these men wrestle naked. At least, not together. Not each other.

Frightening indeed.

"I didn't think he'd— I didn't know it was possible to—" This revelation must have broken Dick.

Jason lights a cigarette before he notices it's soaked. Dick let his umbrella drop. Jason picks it up and tries again.

"Smoke?" he offers after taking a big drag. And then another. Jason has seen some traumatizing shit – hell, he's _been_ through traumatizing shit – but there's not enough nicotine in the world to help him through this one. Might as well share.

"Huh? Oh. Thanks."

Dick accepting comes as almost as much of a shock as his cold fingers on Jason's bare forearms, feeling their way along his glove as if in a trance. He takes the cigarette awkwardly between his thumb and forefinger, like someone who has never held one before. Boy scout probably hasn't.

He starts coughing before he's even inhaled anything.

"I thought I was scarred before," Jason remarks. "Now I definitely need therapy."

Jason guides Dick's hand along with the receding cigarette back to his mouth. Dick lets him.

"You and me both."

They stay like this for a while, Jason crouched beneath Dick's umbrella, misusing Dick as a cigarette holder, and Dick standing beside him, getting rained on and staring off into the distance. That is, until the ember burns Dick's fingers and he drops the cigarette. It lands in a puddle by Jason's feet.

"Let's get wasted?" Jason asks and his eyes find Dick's for the first time that night.

Dick nods. "Yeah. Let's."

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Workshop" by Jacob Shores-Argüello.


End file.
